


Get Better

by PeachGO3



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Domestic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Parenting Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-03 18:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20270860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachGO3/pseuds/PeachGO3
Summary: After a dangerous mission, Deadpool and Spider-Man nurse Mysterio back to health – which is difficult when he has to keep up a particular illusion 24/7.





	Get Better

**Author's Note:**

> I slept terribly unwell and was in a bad mood, so I wrote some more of this meme-based pair and their spider son. And now I feel better. And y’all are sleeping on this amazing concept, apparently. Enjoy & have a nice weekend :^D

Quentin has been in bed for three days straight now, and it’s the longest he’s ever been in a bed. Close to seventy hours in bed. Seventy hours, only stopped by miserable limps to the bathroom. It drives him insane. He desperately needs to take a shower. Cautiously, he tries to sit upright, but his side still hurts like hell, and the stirring pain instantly throws him right back onto the cushion. His hiss makes Wade pop his head inside the bedroom.

“What in God’s name are you doing?” he asks in scandalized confusion.

“I need to get up,” Quentin hisses, but it’s quieter than he meant it to sound. He sighs and covers his eyes with his hands. Wade’s steps come closer. “Just call me, honey. I’ll literally get you anything you like,” he says.

“I don’t want to get anything, I want to get out of this bed,” Quentin whines.

The mattress gently bends as Wade sits down. “Are you bored?” he asks.

“I am _devastated_,” Quentin blurts out and looks at Wade with wide eyes. He’s had four hours of sleep, and he must look like it, too. Disastrous. His husband’s face softens in pity. Not his real face, for that matter, his human face from before the experiment. It’s crushing – scruffy, hot and _full of_ amazing skin – but it’s not real.

Quentin sighs and asks Wade to bend down and kiss him. The touch on forehead and lips is soft and soothing as always, and Quentin feels himself relax a bit. “You alright, smelly Shailene Woodley?” Wade asks against his lips. Quentin just hums and finds that he isn’t even in the mood for making out. “I am miserable,” he whines.

“I’m going turn on your favorite Bonny M. playlist and you’ll feel better in no time,” Wade says and sits up straight to look down on him. Quentin frowns and turns away on his pillow. They should just shower together.

“Daddy, daddy cool,” Wade begins to sing, but Quentin replies with an angry groan.

“Babe, what is it?” Wade asks, and for once, he sounds genuine.

“I just wish I had healing powers too,” Quentin mumbles.

“Be glad that you don’t, because I would try far crazier stuff in bed if you had,” Wade assures him.

“You don’t say.”

“I really would. Remember last Valentine’s Day? That was harsh on both of us, but we could go further.”

Quentin blinks. “Yeah.”

There is a pause as Wade throws himself onto the bed and starts stroking Quentin’s (by now terribly messy) hair. His warmth is amazing and his hand is careful. Maybe out of guilt, maybe out of spite, he starts humming ‘Rasputin’, and somewhen he finally asks, “It is about the illusion?”

“No,” Quentin goes and shifts.

“It must be draining, I don’t want you to suffer for me.”

“I do not, don’t worry. I told you a thousand times.”

“Yeah, and that’s a thousand lies,” Wade says. And he’s right. Keeping up a complex illusion like that is exhausting, and it probably slows down the physical healing process of his body so much that Quentin will need a hundred years before being back in full health.

Another pause. “Regardless, how long do you want to keep this up?” Quentin asks as he looks out of the window. It rains. “What do you mean, how long?” Wade repeats.

“Come on, man,” Quentin groans and turns so he can face his husband. He looks so eerily different like this… He raises a hand to stroke Wade’s unscarred cheek, but his arm hurts too much to actually do it. He sighs.

“This is who I really am,” Wade says with a pitiful wrinkle between his kind brown eyes.

“It’s not,” Quentin says.

“Stop with the Fassbender nonsense, honey,” Wade begs and nose-kisses Quentin, who won’t let this discussion fall flat yet again. Because this is not only about Wade’s face. It’s also about his bloody fights as Deadpool and the circus he has to perform when they go on joint missions because he doesn’t want to disappoint/traumatize the kid. “For all things holy, I’m serious,” he snaps, “sooner or later he’ll find out anyway.”

“From who? Who’s gonna tell him?” Wade goes. “It’s not like I have Facebook photos up with that scarface visage.”

“He’s clever, he’s going to find it out himself. I totally get your point, but don’t you think he deserves to hear it from you?”

“Maybe. When he’s twenty-one and stops being such a pure and uncorrupted cinnamon roll.”

“Wade, don’t be silly.”

“Is this happening? Is the Master of Illusions telling me to drop the façade because it’s gonna break down anyway someday?” Wade asks and sounds terribly hurt as he does. “Look, I really appreciate that you’re helping me with this, honestly, thank you, honey,” he continues. “Just keep it up, please. For me. We can’t stop now.”

“So when are we going to stop?” Quentin asks. But he doesn’t get an answer, because a key turns in the flat’s door. Wade pecks Quentin a last time.

“I’m home,” Peter calls.

“Hey, Spider-Man,” Wade greets, “we’re in the bedroom. But we’re both fully clothed, so you can come in. Or can he?” he adds lasciviously before jumping out of bed. It squeaks at the loss of weight.

“Hi,” Peter says with a smile. He’s all wet from the rain. “Sorry, but they didn’t have those raspberry donuts anymore, so I went with blueberry instead,” he apologizes.

“How dare you?” Wade snaps. “Blueberries are evil and I love them. Thank you, kid.”

“No problem, Mr. Wilson,” Peter smiles and returns to the kitchen. Quentin can practically hear Wade’s heart break a bit further at that name, even though he cannot see his face right now. “I’m gonna help him unpack the burgers,” he says and leaves.

“Tell him to change into dry clothes,” Quentin calls.

Wade hums and closes the door. Quentin snuggles into his pillow and prays that the food will lift his terrible mood. And Wade’s, for that matter. ‘Keep it up for me’, yeah, figures. Because Wade wants the illusion not only for Peter, but also for himself. Especially for himself. Quentin sighs. This has to stop – he has to do something.

* * *

“Aw, man,” Wade goes, “this is literally the best burger ever.”

“You say that every time,” Peter jokes with a sitcom-ish grimace, and Wade almost chokes. He’s raised him good (except he didn’t raise him, like, at all). They sit on the bed next to Quentin, who Peter helped to sit upright against the cushion, and enjoy their dinner. Peter jumps to tilt the steamy window, and Wade eyes him with respect. He’s grown a fair bit. But he’s far less lean than when he first met him.

“Have you opened the sticker already?” Quentin asks.

“Oh, no, I haven’t,” Peter remembers. He returns to the bed and searches for the little package. “So,” Wade begins, “who are we placing our bets on?”

Quentin lowers his burger and stares onto the blanket. “I’m going to go with… let’s see…”

“Remember in which universe we are, honey,” Wade says helpfully. Peter waits in excitement. “Yeah, I’m going with Thor,” Quentin says after some time.

Wade nods. “Good one. Imma say Lady Thor. Nope, not out yet.” Gladly, Peter chuckles at that. “Hm,” Wade continues, “how about Wonder Woman?”

“Still don’t know her,” Peter says.

“Wade,” Quentin groans.

“Yeah, no. Imma go with Ant-Man Special Edition. You still need that one, right?” he asks. Peter nods. His Wendy’s Sticker Collection of Superheroes is amazing and close to complete, but the campaign is almost over. They have solely been eating Wendy’s for the past week, and it was painful, but too tasty to miss out on. And Wade figured he wouldn’t be a loyal American if he wouldn’t support these imperialistically exploiting fast food corporations.

“I hope it’s Ant-Man, too,” Peter says and opens the package. He briefly looks at the sticker and then shows it to them. “I got Mystique,” he says.

Internally screaming, Wade clicks his tongue and glares at Quentin. “Really?” he says just a bit too loud. “I can’t believe it, he’s a kid, Quentin!”

“I know what a naked woman looks like,” Peter says in such an innocent tone that Wade pries his eyes loose from his terribly oblivious husband and gives the kid a pitiful look. His hair was still wet, and his socks were so dirty –

“Neither of us won. Who is she anyway? I’ve never heard of her,” Peter says and eyes the sticker.

“Me neither,” Quentin says and bites into his burger to be unavailable for conversation. Wade huffs. Unbelievable. He opens his mouth to protest, but then Peter adds, “She looks badass, like an alien! I wonder what her superpowers are. They should really add those things under the name or so.”

Quentin gives Wade a knowing look and continues to eat his burger. Wade sighs and says, “She can shapeshift. And fight like a fury. Not the Fury – y’know what I mean.” He fishes for his beer.

“So that’s like her true form on here? With the blue I mean?” Peter asks with fascination. Wade hums. Could Beck be any more obvious? What was wrong with him? Petty fishbowl idiot.

“Is she in New York?” Peter asks in a hopeful tone.

“Don’t know,” Wade says. But he doesn’t want to disappoint the kid, so he adds, “She might stop by though. You never know with these folks.”

“Do you know her personally?” Peter asks. Wade hesitates, but then he feels Quentin’s foot kick his thigh from under the blanket. “Yes,” he replies thin-lipped, “yes, I might’ve met her… a few times.”

“Does she sleep with her eyes open?” Peter asks.

Wade blinks. “That’s frighteningly specific, kid. She’s not a shark.”

“I believe that was dolphins,” Quentin chimes in, but it’s the only thing he ever contributes to that conversation. “That said,” Wade calls, “I don’t know how the duck she sleeps. Or how whales sleep, good God.”

“Just wondering,” Peter murmurs and looks at the sticker yet again. “She seems cool. Being in this set means she’s a big deal, but I didn’t even know she existed. Wow.”

“She works undercover, mostly.”

“I see,” Peter says and tucks the sticker away to finish his burger. Wade side-eyes him and shifts on the bed. “Don’t you think she looks hideous?” he asks as casual as possible.

“What?” Peter goes with his mouth full. “Are you for real? She looks awesome.”

“Well,” Wade says without looking at Quentin, “you only say that because you’ve never seen her sexy human form. Nice blond hair.” Peter rummages for the sticker and looks at it again, but his face distorts. “I couldn’t possibly say, but compared to this, she’d just look lame,” he says.

“Perfection,” Quentin whispers, and Wade could’ve punched him, but he was suddenly way too tired for that. He couldn’t even finish his burger. Or the blueberry donut. He decides to put it in the fridge. Later that evening, he wants to exchange Quentin’s bandages and finally talk to him, but his husband declines. “I could do it, too, if you like,” Peter offers. He’s sweet like that.

“No, no, I’ll do it myself, I can manage it,” Quentin says with a smile. Wade shrugs and leaves for the kitchen where he puts his hands onto the counter and stares at them. Wonderful, beautiful hands. Perfect for holding and being held. And other things, but this fic is rated G.

“Hey,” he hears Peter say and steps aside so that they both could stand in the tiny room. He eyes him as Peter gets himself a soda from the fridge, and even a glass. He’s still a child, Wade thinks, he doesn’t need to know about Deadpool. Beck is just being a prick.

“Mr. Beck had done some research on Mystique earlier,” Peter says.

Wade nods. “Where was I when he did that?” he asks thin-lipped.

“In the bathroom, I think,” Peter utters with a polite smile and nods. “She’s just so cool, aw, man. She’s, like, a real hero. Even though she did some pretty shady stuff too, apparently. But that was, like, super-long ago. And it was against the real bad guys.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Seventies, tse. Basically eons ago,” Wade snarls.

“I know, right? But Mr. Beck says he doesn’t know where she is at the moment.”

Wade shifts and leans against the counter. “Maybe she’s died,” he muses like a dummy.

“That would suck. I’d love to meet her,” Peter says and puts the soda back into the fridge. Wade cannot look at him any longer. He just wants to go to bed. “Is there still laundry left to wash?” he asks as he rubs his tired, but _beautiful_ face with his _perfect hands_. He sounds like a dad, for God’s sake.

Peter doesn’t answer right away, which isn’t like him at all. Wade drops his hands and gives him a look. “Spider-Man? Is there laundry left to do? Like your formerly white socks, for instance?”

“Yeah, about that,” Peter says and turns around with a frown. “Can I ask you something, Mr. Wilson?”

Wade sighs. “Call me Wade, please. Or Captain Deadpool, or Master Bruce. ClubPenguinFan06. But not _that_. Literally anything but Mr. Wilson.”

“Okay, err, sorry. It’s just…” Peter looks around and makes sure the bedroom door is closed. He fumbles with his hands in his pajama’s far too long sleeves. “The other day, when I did the laundry, there was your superhero suit and I figured I’d wash it, too,” he begins in a strangely nervous tone. Oh God.

“And, err, there was a lot of blood,” he says simply, “so I wondered – oh, well, I probably shouldn’t have done it-”

“Just tell the story, kid,” Wade begs. He listens.

Peter exhales and sucks in a breath right after that. “I know about your healing powers, and you didn’t really get hurt that much on the mission – but that was still a whole lot of blood, so I was kind of worried. And I analyzed it. I guess.” He looks up guiltily. “DNA and such. And turned out it wasn’t yours,” he concludes. “Are you alright?”

Wade sighs. “You are amazing, Spider-Man,” he says in a shockingly tired voice and breaths heavily. “I’m alright, thank you,” he adds and pats Peter’s shoulder. The kid doesn’t flinch at the touch.

“I know you have to get up early tomorrow,” Wade says. “But if you don’t mind, I’d like to tell you a thing or two. I know I should’ve talked to you earlier, but I didn’t. I was just being an unfair douche.”

“You’re most certainly not,” Peter says with a smile. He jumps from one foot to the other and adds thoughtfully, “Whatever you’re going to tell me now, I’m prepared. Nothing can change what I feel for you or Mr. Beck. You helped me and Aunt May and literally everyone else I care about, because you’re a good person, and I thank you for that, and nothing can change it. Mysterious Family, right?”

“Aw, man, I’m gonna tear up,” Wade says and chuckles to the ground. “Speaking of which, you’re pretty dewy-eyed. Always check whether you can really trust a grown-up.” He claps his hands like a grandpa. “Now c’mon, let’s get that blueberry donut and sit down to talk, Spider-Man.”

“Okay,” Peter says. “Captain Deadpool.”

“I take it back, don’t call me that,” Wade says, “seriously.” He hears Peter snicker, and he sees Quentin’s face in front of his mental eye, and Quentin’s lips part, but he doesn’t mouth ‘told you so’ or anything like that. It’s just ‘I love you’. And then Wade feels the illusion crumble from his body like sand and stones. At first it feels gross, but it’s also kinda refreshing. Feels like coming home.

“You are Mystique,” he hears Peter whisper in absolute awe.

“No,” Wade says and opens his eyes, “I’m the merc with a mouth.”

(“Now kill the music! What a sick introduction, damn. Take notes, suckers.”

“Oh my God, who are you talking to–”)


End file.
